


you should stay

by LT_Aldo_Raine



Series: You, Me, and a Melody [a collection of BabeRoe songfics] [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Party, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 23:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine
Summary: Gene squeezed the guy's side. “Alright. Let's get you in bed.”“You really ought'a buy me dinner first, don't ya think?”OR: Gene's at a party and sees a certain redhead in need of assistance. Cliche hurt/comfort and drunk flirting ensues.





	you should stay

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by...
> 
> Say You Won't Let Go - James Arthur
> 
> I met you in the dark  
> You lit me up  
> You made me feel as though  
> I was enough  
> We danced the night away  
> We drank too much  
> I held your hair back when  
> You were throwing up  
> ///  
> Then you smiled over your shoulder  
> For a minute, I was stone cold sober  
> I pulled you closer to my chest  
> And you asked me to stay over  
> I said, I already told ya  
> I think that you should get some rest

Eugene Roe couldn't quite work out just how his roommate had convinced him to go to a dorm party.

Between volunteering at the hospital, working at the student health center, and his ungodly course schedule, Gene barely had time to sleep, much less go out. But he'd just aced the "mid-term to end all mid-terms" in his organic chemistry class and logged his thirtieth hour in the lab this semester, so his roommate and fellow pre-med student Ralph Spina had been adamant that Gene catch up on some long overdue social interaction. Even Renee LeMaire, his charming lab partner, had teased him and suggested he take a break.

“Honestly, Eugene, you need to have fun and smile more.” Renee smoothed a thumb down over the side of Gene's mouth. “You're getting frown lines, mon amie.”

So, now here he was. Pressed against the wall in an overcrowded dorm corridor to let a pizza delivery guy pass, a stack of boxes balancing precariously in his hand. The music was too loud—and bad, some shitty pop number—and half of the students in the dorm (most of them probably underclassmen, and therefore underage) were already _wasted_.

"How you know these guys again?" Gene asked, trying pitifully to hide his frown while following behind his roommate.

Spina glanced back at Gene, simultaneously tossing a wink at a charming, blond co-ed, as he shouted his reply. "The guy that lives on this floor—they call him Wild Bill!—he came into the student health center yesterday asking for a hangover cure. Guy had a mid-term in half an hour. So I fix him up something-oh! And the best part, he's from Philly! Can you believe it?"

"No kiddin'?"

"I know! I couldn't believe it. Yeah, and get this? Bill says there's another kid from the southside here, too. Some freshman they call Baby or somethin'." Spina came to an abrupt stop outside one of the open dorm rooms—a suite by the looks of it—and gestured to Gene. “This is it!”

The pair of pre-med students weren't more than two feet in the door when a raucous shout rang out. "Aye, fellas, its Ralphie!" Suddenly, Gene and Spina were swarmed by a gaggle of rowdy, drunk underclassmen, one of whom promptly wrapped an arm around Spina's shoulders and tugged him into a vigorous side-hug with a boisterous call of, "Yup! He's the fella that gave me that magical fruit juice or some shit, helped me get through Sobel's final, no problem."

“Buddy,” the drunk guy— _Wild_ _Bill_ , Gene thought—looked at Spina with love in his eyes. “You saved my ass, pal. A drink for my new friend!” The dark haired man cut his gaze left and right. “Aye, where's the drinks?! I gotta get a drink for my friend-” He glanced sharply at Gene. “-and for his friend! Bull, Johnny, where's the drinks?!”

Gene watched, slightly distressed on behalf of this stranger, as the guy spun in circles in search of beer, while another party-goer—this one much shorter and sober-looking—saddled up to Spina and asked, "Hey, man, what was in that stuff? You considered marketing it? I'm just sayin', we could make a pretty profit with this little capital venture."

"'We?' What is this 'we,' George?" Wild Bill asked,immediately forgetting his quest for more drinks.

"He's got the recipe, and I've got the entrepreneurial genius to back the operation, Gonorrhea."

 _Gonorrhea?_ Gene raised an eyebrow at Spina, one which clearly said two things: one) _what classy new friends you've made_ , and 2) _we are both entirely too sober for this crowd_. God, Gene was five minutes into the party and he already wanted to leave. But he wouldn't bolt. His momma didn't raise no chicken, and he knew he'd never live it down with Renee if he tucked tail and ran already.

He really needed to find that drink.

"What genius, Luz?" scoffed some broody guy next to him. Like his friends, this guy had dark hair and was obviously a little gone, but he looked about as uncomfortable as Gene felt. Feeling Gene's gaze, the guy glanced over and nodded his hello. "Joe Toye."

"Gene," he replied, then he gestured the beer in Joe's hand. "There any more of those?"

* * *

“Oh, is that fuckin' right, professor?”

“For the last time, Joe, I'm not a professor! I'm a TA and you know it.”

“Could'a fooled me, Web. The way you're strutting around here like you're hot shit. You gonna fail me on my midterm, huh? Gonna drop my GPA, professor?”

“Once again, your humor proves to be trite and redundant.”

“Sorry, we don't all have the dictionary memorized, _Webster-_ ”

The tension between the two screaming men was palpable, but Gene was fairly certain he was the only one that noticed the death match occurring in the middle of the living space-turned-dance floor. Gene wondered, briefly, if he should notify someone. But the host—Wild Bill, himself, Gene had learned—was probably too drunk to care. Gene would keep an eye on the pair, just in case, his caretaker tendencies kicking in despite the little voice in his head—the one that sounded suspiciously like Renee—telling him to let loose, have fun, c'est la via, capre diem, and all that shit.

Weaving his way through the crowd and nursing his third beer, Gene reckoned he needed to stay for at least another hour to avoid hearing shit from his friends tomorrow. Speaking of friends, where the hell was his roommate? Gene weaved in and out of the rooms in the dorm suite like a shadow, hugging the edge of the walls, nodding and smiling when people caught his eye. He was still looking for Spina when he stumbled into a bathroom—one that was occupied.

“Oh, uh, sorry, man.”

The guy puking had his head so far down in the toilet that Gene just knew his hair would be wet.

Wincing sympathetically, Gene asked, “Hey, man, you alright?”, then instantly felt like an idiot. The fella was _obviously_ not alright. Gene hesitated awkwardly in the doorway until the guy lurched back from the toilet to face him. “Whoa, whoa, easy there! Take it easy. Don't move too fast, okay?”

And then Gene was kneeling, trying to steady the guy.

He was met with a wide, sloppy smile. “Heeeeeeyyyyyy, you're Spina's buddy. The guy who fixed up Bill with that hangover cure. Hey, man, you're great. Just _...super.”_ Gene wanted to correct him, tell him that it was actually his roommate that had saved the day, but the redhead—Gene thought he looked familiar; maybe they had met in the kitchen earlier?—, but the guy didn't slow down once he started talking. “I think—uh—I might require your services tomorrow...say, what's your name, anyhow?”

The redhead was cute in a kind of dopey way. His lips were a little too big, so was his nose, and his floppy red locks were sweaty and clumping in wisps along his forehead. But there was something there. Something sweet in the way his eyes shone as he grinned up at Gene while hugging the toilet bowl like it was his best pal. Honestly, the scene was more endearing than Gene thought it ought to have been.

“I'm Gene, Gene Roe. I'd offer to shake your hand, but...” Gene teased, playfully. This caused the guy's grin to twitch just so, and Gene felt a simmer of satisfaction. “You doin' alright?”

“M'fine...M'Babe.”

The corner of Gene's mouth quirked up in a little smirk. “I think you better save the pet name's for when you're sober, huh?”

“What?” the guy asked, genuinely confused, before his expression smoothed over and he burst out laughing. “Okay, Gene. Whatever you say. I-”

The redhead's words died as he heaved over the toilet once more. Gene looked away, trying to give the guy some privacy while he wretched his guts out. His nurturing instincts kicking in, Gene reached over to rub soothing circles on the guy's back while he vomited.

Sometime later, when the heaving had subsided, the redhead slumped back against the tub and smiled sheepishly at Gene over his shoulder. His hair was matted crazily across his damp forehead, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. Gene felt a pang of sympathy—even if this guy's pain was self-induced. He clapped the other man gently on the shoulder. “Hey, whatta ya say we get you home, huh?”

A loose grin split the guy's face. “Already there.”

Gene's brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

“I live here. This is my apa'tment.”

“Oh. Well, good. That's gonna make this a whole lot easier, then.”

With only a moderate amount of struggling, Gene managed to get the redhead to his feet. The duo hovered at the sink for a moment while the guy sloppily rinsed out his mouth. Gene found a washcloth hanging from a hook behind the door. He wet the small rag and held it out to his impromptu patient. The guy took it with a shamefaced glance and began wiping his face, paying extra care to his clammy forehead and mouth, before dropping the soiled cloth in the sink and sighing. “Okay, Doc.”

Gene accepted the guy's weight readily. Though the redhead had a good several inches on Gene, he was doing a fine job of staying upright, which certainly helped—even if he kept crossing one foot over, stumbling like a young colt. “You gonna tell me which room is yours, or...?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, sorry, Doc. S'over there...the-” He made a vague motion with his hand, gesturing somewhere down the corridor toward the living area.

The hallway was crowded with lots of bodies bumping into them, nearly sending them toppling to the floor every few seconds. Gene pulled the guy closer, squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I got'cha. I ain't gone let you fall.”

The young pre-med student received a silly grin for his efforts. “I nev'a doubted you for a second, Doc.”

Eventually, after lots more stumbling and a disastrously narrow-miss at the beer pong table, Gene found the guy's room— _and_ the people having sex in it.

“Aw, Christ,” Gene cursed under his breath, swiftly removing his eyes from the scene.

The couple on the bed hadn't even bothered to look up when the door popped open.

“Get out,” Gene demanded just as his redheaded companion muttered, “Aww, seriously, Julian?”

At that, the kid on the bed jerked up, pulling his mouth away from the petite blond pinned to the mattress beneath him. “Babe, what the fuck? Get outta my room. Can't you see I'm busy here?”

“This isn't your fuckin' room, Jules. Its _mine._ Now, get the fuck out.”

“Wha...?” The dark haired kid looked around, face a mask of drunken confusion. Beneath him, the girl began to wiggle uncomfortably as she realized that she was naked in a room with three men. Gene made it a point not to look at her in her current state. Instead, he eyed the floor where he spotted what he assumed was her top. Shuffling a step, he bent to retrieve the red blouse—a tricky task when he was still supporting the redhead's weight—and tossed the shirt in the direction of the couple on the bed. Clearing his throat, Gene repeated himself. “Y'all need to get out. _Now._ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” the other guy—Julian?—muttered.

After a bit of scrambling and awkward apologies, Gene and the redhead were alone. Gene squeezed the guy's side. “Alright. Let's get you in the bed.”

There came a snort. “You really ought'a buy me dinner first, don't ya think?”

“Ha, ha,” he replied, dryly. Rolling his eyes, Gene helped the redhead shuffle two steps closer to the bed, where he promptly collapsed with a groan and a desperate declaration, “I really gotta stop drinking.”

Gene made an amused sound. He helped the guy out of his shoes and tugged the bed sheet up over him. The redhead snuggled down into the mountain of pillows at the head of bed, muttering all the while about bad roommates and sex in other people's beds. Gene stood, transfixed on the spot, amused and, oddly enough, endeared by the scene.

“You could stay, ya know,” the guy mumbled, his voice growing sleepy. “You should stay.”

The redhead's words ignited a strange flutter inside Gene's stomach. He could see it in an instant—the two of them spooning all night, Gene waking every so often to press a cool hand to the guy's forehead just in case, placing gentle caresses across the guy's back, stroking the guy's arms and hugging him tight. Gene would be the big spoon, tucking his knees firmly against the back of the taller man's thighs. All night, he'd be able to feel the redhead's heart beat against his chest, hear the other man's deep, steady breathing. Then, in the morning, they would wake and it would be awkward, but alright. The guy would spout apologies, embarrassed, his face delightfully flushed. He would stumble into the bathroom to hastily brush his teeth and wash his face before he returned to the bedroom to kiss Gene good morning.

It was a nice thought.

Gene tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I don't think that's such a good idea.”

Face buried in his pillows, the redhead snickered softly. “You mean I haven't lured you in with all of my charm?”

“Maybe some other time, yeah?” retorted Gene, lips tucked up in the shadow of a smile.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He lingered another moment, watching and waiting. Hesitating. He didn't want to leave. Only, he needed to. Gene had to content himself with the fact that the guy was no longer sprawled all over the bathroom floor. Gene had gotten him safely to bed, where he would sleep off his drunken stupor. There was nothing more for him to do. So, Gene murmured a soft, “G'night,” and left the redhead to his blankets and his inevitable morning-after hangover.

Closing the stranger's door quietly behind him, Gene decided he'd had enough of the party—Renee and Spina be damned. Headed for the door, Gene noticed the two guys from earlier, the one's he'd seen engaged in a world class shouting match on the dance floor. Nearly two hours later, Gene was surprised to see that they two were still at one another's throats—only this time there was tongue involved.

 _Oh_.

Laughing to himself about the chaos of the night, Gene thought one last time of the drunk redhead. Then, he left the party.

* * *

Two weeks later, Gene was next in line to get coffee at the little cafe inside the student union when somebody cut in front of him.

The guy was tall with a shock of red hair. Gene listened, momentarily stunned—seriously, skipping in line? Was this middle school?—, to hear the guy order a vanilla mocha. Then, the stranger spun on Gene with what had to be the dumbest fucking shit-eating grin Gene had ever seen.

“-and, uh, whatever he's having,” the redhead told the cashier.

Brow furrowing, Gene looked between the guy and the cashier, both of whom were gazing at him expectantly. He blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“What would you like to order, sir?” the woman behind the register asked.

“Uh, cafe americano, please.”

As the woman punched his order into the register, the redhead beamed down at Gene. “You are a remarkably difficult man to track down, you know that?”

Again, Gene blinked, utterly thrown off. “Um. No?”

The redhead paid for their order, Gene protesting gently in the background—“You don't gotta do that”—, then turned, taking Gene by the elbow and guiding him over to a tall table. “You don't rememba me, do ya?”

And standing in that little cafe, the buzz of the student union around them, Gene peered up at the happy redhead and in a flash was transported to a cramped bathroom with bad, loud pop music thumping in his ear. He couldn't fight the small smile that tugged on his lips. “You're the guy from the party.”

The redhead nodded, proudly. “Yup. That's me. Toilet hugger extraordinaire.”

Behind the counter, someone called their number. The stranger retrieved their drinks, extending Gene's coffee as a slight blush crept over his pale cheeks. “I, uh, I wanted to say thanks, and that I'm sorry you had to, uh, well, ya know, take care of me and stuff.” The guy rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I really appreciate it. Ya didn't have to do that. Hell, I can't tell ya the number of times my dumbass friends have left me on the floor all night.”

Gene laughed, and the guy winced. “Shit, that didn't come out right. I'm not—I'm not a drunk or somethin'... Anyway...”

And in the daylight, with no evidence of vomiting or alcohol or dumb college decisions, the redheaded stranger was even prettier than Gene remembered. He was long and lean and had the fullest lips Gene had ever seen up close. He watched the gentle curve of them as the guy took a hesitant sip of his mocha and felt _tempted._

“So...” The redhead bit his lip, obviously uncomfortable. “I'm Babe.”

“ _Babe?_ ” And, honestly, Gene hadn't meant to sound so incredulous.

The guy only grinned and laughed a little, and nodded. “Yeah, Babe. Heffron. You're Gene, right? Gene Roe.”

“I am.”

“Well, Gene Roe-” The redhead nudged his own to-go coffee cup against Gene's. “-cheers. And thanks, again.” The guy bit his lip suddenly, the notion more shy than Gene would have thought possible for someone so clearly extroverted. It was cute. “Well, listen, if you ever wanna...ya know, hang out when I'm not being an idiot, let me know. I'd, uh-” Another flush of red lit up the guy's cheeks. “-I'd make a better second impression. Promise.”

Then, he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. He dropped the paper—his number—down onto the table top and flashed Gene a final, blinding grin, before he turned and made his way towards the exit.

* * *

Babe made it all of two steps out of the student union when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

_One New Message  
_ _504-678-0900 – 3:12pm – Yeah, Babe. I'd like that. -GR_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Open for BabeRoe song fic requets!


End file.
